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Anastasia Black
Sculpted from the Clay of Gods Appearance The epitome of physical perfection, Anastasia is quick to draw eyes from all across the room-- Lithe and dexterous, she handles herself with a smooth, confident, and predatory gait; Not holding an air of cockiness, but exuding an aura of power that demands respect. It hints to the way she has embraced her beast as opposed to trying to contain it, as most members of the Camarilla seem so prone to do, and that tends to make most near her feel uneasy. A few bats of those green eyes and a toss of her curled brown locks though, and she's got them wrapped around her fingers. Her facial features are softly defined with an emphasis on her eyes and cheekbones, making her of an obviously french descent. She's only slightly above average height, at 5' 7", and prefers not to disclose her weight. That is, after all, a rather distasteful question. If one were to discover themselves so honoured as to find their way between the sheets with this physical manifestation of aphrodite, they would find the one flaw on her otherwise flawless body; What appears to be a muddled tattoo-- Otherwise, her nearly powder-colored complexion is soft and smooth beneath anyone's hands; if only slightly cool to the the touch. Personality As a toreador, Anastasia is ever quick to make quips and half-heartedly vague insults based on anyone's personal taste in attire, decorations, or even mannerisms. Being of a physically perfect form, Ana also finds a great deal of fun in poking at other kindred's lack of physical appeal when compared to her, and sometimes eachother. She doesn't beat around the bush when she comes across anything that displeases her if it's within her power to fix it-- Priding herself on the work she performs as a plastic surgeon and often offering her services to those unfortunate enough to be cursed with a visage that draws her displeasure, sometimes even at no price, if the poor sod is ugly enough to her. Nosferatu are the exception to this habit of hers-- finding that the beauty of the clan as a wholes lies in their disfigurements, and her past dealings with them generally having resulted in declines and insistence on keeping their unique visage. Typically, she carries herself with an aura of self-assured confidence-- but not to the point to make her seem so much to be considered cocky; She rather despises anyone who exerts that kind of behaviour so openly and brash, and does not hesitate to call them out on such distasteful displays. She considers it a personal offense on behalf of all kindred, to not carry ones self with the dispositon of a predator that understands that nothing is so assured as to warrant peacocking. Show her you're one to calculate the twists of a challenge in a more discreet manner, however, and you'll have her undivided attention. The flip side to this, of course, is that having the woman's eyes on you is not such a great thing. Gain her attention, and you're likely one of two things; Someone who's earned her ire enough to be deserving of a social run-around, or someone who's proven to be a prospective toy-- or worthy adversary to engage in games with, simply on a whim. Whichever term you'd prefer. Having come from tougher times, many find her tactics can be rather ruthless, but her recent years in the camarilla have softened her slightly. Not anything she would admit to those who know of her, and certainly not something she'd let anyone get away with muttering under their breath. Forged from the Fires of Hell History Time has not been too kind to the toreador's pre-embrace memory, but she was once a young girl from the heart of the Ukraine; Her family one of the multiple nomads to have laid an unofficial, but predominately unchallenged, claim to the land for many generation. She had been not much older than a meer teen when the Russian's came and finally muscled the families off of their lands, and having been gifted with a pretty face and a free, if hard-working, spirit... well, she found herself catching the eyes of the neighboring foreigners that had ruined the livelihood of her people and killed those who would not surrender their possessions; so was the case with her, and some of the other women. She was brutalized. Multiple days, possibly weeks, of continuous sexual assault and beatings when she fought back made her a favorite amongst the conquerers, and she loathed it. It was only once the russian captors had decided to make their move back into the mother land, confident their prolonged presence had driven the rest of the nomads from returning, that a lone man came across them in the night. His speed was remarkable, and his strength brutal; obviously not of the human species. She'd feared for her life as this monster tore into these men that had kept her for so long as if they were but children falling on his blade, and when he finally turned his attention onto her, she had wanted to run. Fear welled up so terribly inside of that she thought she would have burst, but he... he had been so beautiful. She found herself staring at his features as his dark eyes bore into hers, and it was then that her fear subsided. Another feeling rose to replace it, and Ana would laugh now and tell you that the powers of a toreador's presence are truly remarkable-- but she joined the man who would be her sire, descended from the great Baron Philippe Volgierre, and the two traveled for a short while; Finding shelter before sunrise and beginning their nights together as a terrible duo. Her human beauty had enthralled her sire, ultimately leading to his turning her before their departure that next night; A most painful experience, ana would tell you. The sabbat didn't tend to be gentle with how they embraced, though-- and they typically still don't. Learning her sire's language was a tedious process, but his blood coursing through her veins was enough of a help to make it a durable one, and he took her across the country she had been born, and died, in-- heading for a place he called 'France'. The two grew rather fond of eachother, beyond the bond of Sire and Childe, but her recent human brutalization kept her from succumbing to any sexual relations. Over the months the two walked across europe, she was taught of the man that her sire served; the sire of his sire's sire, a Baron who ruled a plot of land and all who lived upon it. At first, images of how the russian's flooded her homeland and forced themselves on her people earned an outraged response, but further explanation calmed her. Baron Philippe Volgierre was a man who had earned his title, against a rival who would have wished to harm these people as she had been harmed; and thus, her induction into the Sabbat had begun. Her beauty was not something that went unnoticed by the baron himself, and she was quickly taken under his wing from her sire when she arrived. He had a thing for pretty women, but none of the whores that he plucked off the street could compare to Ana. Watching how the sabbat worked and treated eachother, coming to the conclusion that letting the baron dote on her and treat her like his precious kitten in order to keep herself safe was an easy one to make. The sabbat treasured and respected power above all, as long as they had the brains to not let it get themselves killed, and her Baron was most powerful indeed. So long as she kept on his good side and did as he desired, she found she encountered very little trouble-- and was eventually able to begin divulging into her own sorts of mental extortion, testing the limitations of her powers. She encountered many different clansmen-- a Tzimisce in particular that she had captivated so thoroughly as to discreetly challenge the baron for her affections will always have a special place in her heart, though. She'd heard stories and seem some of the things such clansmen did to bodies, and Ana found herself absolutely intrigued with it all. Having descended from the Baron's direct lineage, she picked up on the art of fleshcrafting rather quickly-- a gift from a longing aadmirer in hopes to win the young toreador, but one that was quickly noticed by the Baron when she practiced on any who had displeased her. He'd been punished, the poor devil, but he'd lived. He'd marked her with his clan's emblem during a night of passion, and she still bears it to this night. Once the baron found he no longer was the only one to have Ana's eye, though, his interest in the young toreador faded with every passing month. Years later, she was sent away with several other packmates on a special hunt. The Sabbat Inquisition had come through, looking for a rogue childe creating infernalist spawn-- A nephew by the blood to the baron himself, but such a tie did not warrant any protection. Her increased skill in the art of manipulation and her use of auspex was a handy tool indeed that the Inquisition could make use of in their hunt for these damned kindred, and the very nature of the hunt itself and killing these mongrels twisted the toreador more and more every year from the innocent girl that she had once been. She'd become ruthless, cunning, and realized how powerful she'd become. Many more years passed, and with several infernalists now ash because of her, she took back to her homeland to face personal demons. More than a hundred years had passed-- but Ana had stopped keeping count at that point. Her once small settlement was now a large city by the name of Pereshchepyne, and the native tongue had changed to that of her captors all of those years ago. Disgusted, she made quick work of finding some of the mortals to take her frustration out on. Unfortunately for her, a necromancer had laid claim to the city as their domain-- and having a sabbat anti-tribu running amok in their city did not fly over very well. They sent ghouls and ghosts to plague the toreador, and they continued to plague her for many a year before she grew tired of the inconveniences they posed. She'd made her way then to Italy, seeking out the help of any of the family Giovanni that would remove these spirits from her presence. She met one such member, by the name of Delia Giovanni; and her price was steep, but a price Ana paid none the less. She helped with dirty work, fetching body parts and staging situations to give the necromancer any specific murderer's parts she required. The work was interesting, though-- kept her busy for a good many years in Venice, and the two grew rather... amused with eachother's presence and quirks. Not quite 'friends', but more good acquaintances in the name of business. This suited the Giovanni well, and so Ana was also pleased. As business did die down, and her partner found herself wishing to remove herself from the clan heirarchy, Ana too made her way to her second home. Back to france, to meet up with the Baron Volgierre who had taken to her so quickly those centuries ago. Oh, how things had changed. The baron was a greatly powerful man, tried by terrible times. He still ruled his pack as he always had, but time had moved on, and so they had outgrown their territory-- but he was hardly one to want to think about giving it up. She no longer held his eye, she took notice; but he still could not believe how she had changed. From a lap cat to a huntress, she impressed him-- but his motives did not suit her larger plans. She moved on to England, quickly picking up on the language after having picked up bits and pieces in her former travels in Italy, where she began to study more on the human body. Her exploits with the Giovanni had given her a healthy interest in the human physique, and now she needed to know all she could about it. So began her sprees of tracking down citizens, splitting them open and pulling things apart t put them back together in an effort of seeing how everything worked. More years of this and many picks of people off the street yielded the result she'd feared; None possessed a body of absolute perfection. Thus, her enhancements and experiments began. She took to the slums, finding the decrepit and the forsaken and twisting their bones and flesh to her will-- at first, fixing them to a proper state through trial and error, but eventually escalating to drastic changes to suit her ideal vision of a human body. If she'd been smarter then, she'd have gone under the practice of the few up and coming doctors to shield her activities, but such is the nature of hindsight. Posing obvious threats to the camarilla's precious masquerade, she was chased out of multiple cities and domains-- changing her name and face with every change of scenery, until eventually, england grew far too small for the toreador. She found herself aboard a trade ship, on the way to Port Royale; A new land for her to wreck, under the guise of watching the hanging of one pirate, Charles Vane. A rather amusing bit of fun he seemed to have with the English, so she heard; torturing his surrendered enemies and sending exploding ships into a harbor, or something along those lines. A good bit of fun... until you get caught. Making landfall during the night, Anastasia went to quick work to arrange for a good seat to this hanging, but came across another individual that rather easily caught the toreador's eye. Long blonde hair, eyes bluer than the Caribbean, and fair skin were the obvious signs that she was no native to these lands-- and the beauty of this woman was enough to make her stop for a moment and watch her in a trance-like state. She did not take kindly to being so openly oggled, as her garb and posture assumed her to be someone of discretion and not too pleased to have caught someone's eye. She hissed something rather rude to her about moving her attention elsewhere, snapping ana out of her trance, but thus initiating her game. She could feel in her the same beast Ana herself ran with, and the next logical course of action was to test the waters. Of course, Ava was none too pleased that the toreador wouldn't leave her be in the time of her mentor's demise, but the short scuffle that ensued and lasted not for more than a moment gave both women pause as the two realized they'd encountered someone else of their level. Of course, knowing the nature of these two huntresses, they could not simply accept that-- and the waters were tested further. A string of murders to last two weeks, each of the bodies more disgustingly mangled and twisted than the last, and in such a display as to make one's stomach sour. Even then, despite the losses and wins, the two ladies found they could find no way to obviously out-do the other-- and so, the two beasts fell complacent in their relationship of keeping the other on their toes; and Ana was introduced to a path much different than the Humanity the cainites of the Camarilla adhered to, but not the same as she had been taught to follow in the Sabbat. A path of Night, that seemed a much healthier balance between the two worlds, and Ana spent many years and spilled countless gallons of blood to convince her to teach her the ways. Eventually, succumbing to the toreador's pleading and nagging, she was lead onto the path of night-- gradually, over the course of a few years just to make it obvious to the woman that she was technically under the control of another for now, which resulted in many bursts of violence akin to rabid dogs tussling in the street, but she overcame the challenges and found herself fitting in rather nicely. The two continued their stay in the Isles, their reign of terror unmatched for many more years to come-- it was only until the late 1800's that Ana found herself outgrowing her stomping grounds once more, and she took to the sea once again to plant her feet upon the soil of America; where the country was rising to a grand new scale of potential that she planned to make use of. She found herself on the east coast, and was most displeased with the lack of action so far south when compared to the north, and so she went off again. This entire country would be the two goddess's new playground, and they caused trouble wherever they went. Not enough to draw the attention of anyone that didn't know what to look for, but the tell-tale signs of the two were all to obvious to eachother; and it was grand. She found herself intrigued with the position of women in the kine social heirarchy, and how they seemed to be climbing the social ladder-- and she jumped immediately at the chance to aim for the profession that'd captivated her for centuries. It was easy enough to pass for a medical intern and gain the proper licensing, and as she branched out into the different types of medicine, she found herself absolutely bored. Nothing quite equaled the thrill she got from modifying people's bodies, and so, she shot off into the taboo of body modification. Being one of the only 'professional's in business willing to do the work, she kept her operations extremely low-key; but the prices were always paid, and her toreador seductions were enough to keep from word getting blabbed out to the wrong people. More years went by, as the art of body modification and plastic surgery became more of a social norm, Ana found herself stepping out into the limelight to flaunt her skills. She was more successful than ever before, and with the added benefit of getting the right kinds of attention, she was quite literally in toreador heaven. She got to utterly transform and mutate kine as she saw fit, in a manner that didn't breach the masquerade, and didn't need to keep from basking in the affections of admirers of her work. She thought she'd had herself completely and utterly content, with a healthy balance of a social doctor's life and the occasional maiming of sludge off the streets in her spare time, but there was more that would be done. A calling, by the power of the blood of the sire of her sire's sire-- Baron Philippe Volgierre was calling out to her, and his beckoning would not go unanswered. Where she was headed, she did not know; but the power of his call lead her back to France Things had grown increasingly tough for the man, and he found himself having betrayed the wrong people enough times to have no other place to turn than the camarilla. She found she was not the only one to have answered his summons. Many familiar faces were there when he first announced the Volgierre name was to be joined into the camarilla forces; Many left in outrage, or simply writing it off as the spoutings of an old buffoon, but a few stayed-- Ana one of them. She stood at the baron's side once more, showing her support for the man that had given her such an interesting start in her undead life, but could not hide the flinch when she was told her pedigree would be falsified until the induction of her kind would be more socially inclined to be accepted. She was simply a toreador now, and her knowledge of the Sabbat, the Inquisition, and the infernalists was put to very good use. A treachery among her own kind, to ensure her acceptance into her new "family". It left a foul taste in her mouth, but if the fools were so brash as to write off Volgierre without a second thought to their own survival, then maybe death was what they deserved. She did not return to the states; instead, moving her practice to france for the next several years. Only now, in the recent nights the old toreador found reason enough for more excitement in her life. A phone call, from one old friend who helped exact terror upon kine for many a century, has brought Anastasia Black from across the sea-- more than ready to flex old muscles and turn America into the stomping ground it had once been... after putting in a phone call to another accquaintance of hers. The kind of stomping to be done required more than Ava and Ana could execute on their own-- and so, one Giovanni would join the fray. If you're going to stomp something into the ground, it's best to do it properly, with an iron boot. Category:Characters Category:Toreador